An oppressive Cook County courtroom

May 16, 2014|By Samuel V. Jones

(Tribune illustration)

Our nation's perennial allegiance to the idea that courts are public so that justice may be discussed and criticized in public has such strong appeal to the personal ethos of American culture that even the nation's highest court is open to the public and permits note-taking. So should Cook County officials have discretion to ban citizens from taking notes during public court proceedings? A recent visit to Judge Laura Sullivan's bond court offers some insight.

On May 8, several deputies patrolled the courtroom, while others funneled in arrestees for bail hearings before Judge Sullivan. The general public sat in one section. Journalists and attorneys sat in another. The court's TV monitors and microphones seemed to be off. There appeared to be no record of what would happen next.

Deputies spoke to members of the public as if they were inhuman. As one mother attempted to comfort her baby after she uttered a slight sound, one deputy yelled, "Take your baby out of the courtroom, now!" Children watched, fearfully, as their parents held them tighter. Others refused to make eye contact with the deputies. "Get out," some deputies roared.

Amazed by the unnecessary aggression, I wondered how such abusive conduct had escaped public scrutiny. Moments later, I received my answer.

A deputy approached and impolitely inquired, "Are you an attorney"? I identified myself as a professor of law doing research. She responded, "There is no note-taking in here." Interestingly, the deputy had walked past a journalist taking notes in plain view. Neither Judge Sullivan nor the deputies announced a ban on note-taking. I wondered if the deputy knew that "the right of the press to access court proceedings is derivative of the public's right," and journalists held no greater right than I did. I informed her that the office of the chief judge had advised me that note-taking is permitted. I asked if I had violated any laws or was disruptive. "No," she replied, and walked away.

Minutes later, two male deputies ordered me out of the courtroom and said they were confiscating my notes. After I politely inquired about their authority to do so, they took me back into the courtroom. One deputy approached Judge Sullivan and the proceedings immediately stopped. I was ordered to sit on a bench, told not to move or write, and was surrounded by several deputies. While detained, I wondered what would happen to me. More important, what would become of my daughter if "Dada" didn't return home?

The prudence of the founding fathers became eerily clear at that moment. Few constitutional principles are as inextricably linked to our confidence in the judicial system and respect for human dignity as the public right to courts and free speech. Justice flourishes when interested citizens may report, discuss or even condemn observed courtroom proceedings. But for the people, who would tell of my fate and the government's conduct?

After roughly 30 minutes, they released me with my notes. As I left, a group of African-Americans approached, wanting to shake hands. A lady enlightened me, "We saw what they did to you and figured you must be important." "Why," I asked. She explained, "Because they let you go."

I departed heartbroken. I spent decades as a military officer defending the virtues of American democracy. I couldn't help but wonder if my experience was representative of a new America or simply the antics of one brand of deputies. Then I realized, it would be because of our nation's abiding commitment to open courts and free speech that I could report my observations and find an answer.

Samuel V. Jones is a professor at John Marshall Law School. He is a retired U.S. Army judge advocate and an authority on judicial ethics.